


Do Not Go Gentle

by staringatstars



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: Hank's not ready to start missing Connor just yet.





	Do Not Go Gentle

Senses blurred into meaningless impressions – touch mingled with sight, sight with sound, sound with a distant, detached sense of alarm, like watching a fire grow without feeling the heat. Hank forced himself to blink until the black encroaching on his vision recoiled, until the image of his own hands resting on his chest swam into focus. They were slippery, scarlet and wet and pressed over a stain spreading outward on his shirt and jacket.

He’s fairly certain this was a bad situation, but was too tired to even get himself into a proper panic over it. There’s something, though, that’s keeping him from giving into the tempting pull of unconsciousness, and he’s shouting his name, “Hank! You have to stay awake!” Frowning, Hank lolled his head to see Connor kneeling at his side, his perfectly styled hair disheveled as he tried to apply pressure on the wound. For a wild moment, Hank worried he was injured. 

Words slurring, Hank mumbled, “Was I shot?”

There was concrete beneath his back, a rolled up suit jacket bunched beneath his head. If he looked up, he could see the sky. 

Some of the tension bled out of Connor at the sound of his voice. Then his brow furrowed, a muscle jumped in his jaw, “You jumped in front!” Jumped in front? In flashes, Hank remembered chasing a deviant up to the rooftop, watching with not a small amount of pride as Connor tried to talk it down. Neither of them had realized the deviant was armed. “Why would you do that?!” 

His LED was vivid yellow, flashing red. He needed to calm down. 

Imagine a grizzled old drunk like him telling an android to relax. What was the world coming to? 

Hank’s quiet chuckle rattled in his lungs, cut off by a wince. “You’re not replaceable, Connor. Not anymore.” 

“Neither are you!” Connor pressed harder, a lock of hair slipping out of place as he grit his teeth. “Your pulse is dropping. You’re losing too much blood. I need-“

Hank reached up to pat him lightly on the cheek, leaving a red smear behind. Connor’s mouth snapped shut. “Hey, hey, look at me, kid.” His partner shook his head, focusing on the wound, every synthetic muscle bunched tight. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re not dying,” Connor told him firmly, and increased the pressure. 

Hank grinned up at him, “You got that right.”

“You can't die,” Connor continued as though he hadn’t heard. “The doctors are going to fix you.” Hank’s grin faded into a wry smirk. His gaze slid to the side. “I’ve already alerted the paramedics. An ambulance will be here in minutes.” 

Something’s been nicked. It’s sprung a leak and on dry land, beneath the desperate administrations of his partner, Hank could felt his chest fill with fluid, like he’d swallowed the sea and now he’s drowning in it - “Hank! Stay with me!” 

He blinked, spots of red and yellow in his vision. He hadn’t realized he was drifting.

It was quiet. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton.

With an unhappy frown, he realized that Connor was shouting at him, tears leaving glistening streaks on his cheeks and nose, yet he couldn't hear a thing he was saying. Even so, he was obviously upset, and for that reason alone, Hank didn’t want to die. Not yet.

He wanted to be there as Connor really came into his own, as a damn good detective and, more importantly, as a good man. 

Hank had wanted to see his son again for so long, but when exhaustion finally won out over stubbornness, and he was once again dragged under, he was shocked by how much he would have given for just a little more time.

 

_Beep_

_Beep_

Barely conscious, the first thing Hank did upon waking up in the hospital was try to rip the oxygen tube out of his nostrils. He was obstructed by an unexpected weight over his hand which proved to belong to his partner. He sat slumped in an uncomfortable-looking armchair, apparently on stand-by. It looked like the hospital had given him a change of clothes, at least, though his hair was still a mess. Hank lipped his lips, coughed to clear his throat, though he stopped quickly when a dull throb pulsed in his chest like a warning shot. “Connor,” he croaked, hoping that would be enough. 

Connor stiffened, his eyes flying open in a panic, and before Hank could get another word out, he had his arms somewhat full with an android bearing the shape and mind of a young man. 

It didn’t hurt, Connor was too careful for that, but the surprise of it sent the breath out of Hank in a whoosh, and Connor quickly withdrew, looking sheepish. “Forgive me.” His mouth twitched oddly as he looked away. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

Impatient, Hank gestured for him to come closer. A moment’s hesitation and a questioning glance later, Connor bent down, his head tilted as though to listen, allowing Hank to cup a palm behind his head with a gruff, “Get over here” and pull the wide-eyed android in for a hug.


End file.
